Confronting the Past to Engage the Future
by Fixation33
Summary: Emily Prentiss must reunite with her past if she wants to see the future. Third person, except for prelude. Underlying Emily/Clyde. M for language. Pre-BAU and Post-BAU / Dealing with Doyle. BAU characters will be added in later chapters! /Abandoned/
1. Prelude: What Has Been Lost

..

[Prelude: What Has Been Lost]

... ... ... ... ...

Mason Cooley once said: "Looking backward at what has been lost, I feel sad, then indifferent, and at last relieved."

.

I was once quite upset when I left the Joint Task Force, Number Twelve. Then, I realised I had to leave the CIA as well. No amount of compartmentalizing made me feel better about those thoughts. Then, I had also felt indifferent about my choices: that mainly arrived when I was sitting in a _normal_ house with a horrible amount of free time on my hands. Then I felt relieved. I became part of a team that was situated within the FBI. Despite taking time to accept me (I had no illusions that it would start a different way,) my new team became a family like I never had before.

Then, when I finally had something in my life I could happily _live _with, it all fell apart.

Everything came back in a whirl of emotions when Sean McAlister, the Interpol superior who brought our task force into working the case that challenged me the most, informed me that Ian Doyle escaped. The constant turmoil and the downward spiral that brought my life to an end, or so the people I cared about the most thought, had to end.

Now, looking on what I had recently lost, I know I'll never feel indifferent or relieved: I just know I must fight to try and get it back.

... ... ... ... ...

(Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creativity. And some characters within this story.)

_[Author's Note] : __**READ. (at least the first part of it)**_

It'll be quick, this time (:  
>I just want you to know that none of this is going to be in first person. I <em>hate <em>first person stories, but I found that this prequel sounded better then how it was in third person.  
>Also, further into the story, there may be lingo you don't understand… I'll try and remember and post the definitions at the bottom of the page under the AN (:

(Now you can stop reading if you don't want to know where the story is going :P)

I basically have it planned out – but I'm not sure how it's going to turn out. I have the first three (actual) chapters finished; however, I'm going to Punta Cana for a week, tomorrow, and I don't want to suddenly put everything on without knowing how the rest is going to write.

The three chapters I have written already all deal with Emily's past. Minor bit of CIA past (ch.1), Flashbacks to childhood (ch.2), and then her meeting the JTF-12 (ch.3). I have one more chapter to write (that's planned) about her past with the JTF, and that's only going to be about getting the Doyle case.

After that, prepare for a major jump in time as it goes to Emily in the hospital (maybe, I think, but don't quote me on that.) Then, another jump in time by a few months (I'm _not_ writing her recovery) and it'll be her joining back up with the CIA to work on finding Doyle.

[That last part is what I'm not sure about… I don't know how it's going to come out.]

However, try and stick with me here (:

ALSO, just so you know, I've done a lot of research for this. I don't know how many times I re-watched 6x17 & 6x18, as well as the various parts in other episodes regarding Doyle. You should see some of the screenshots I have such as the uncovered Lauren Reynolds file JJ shows the team. It may be blurry, but I made it all out :P

I also researched CIA, SIS, DCRI, and BND things as well as the CTIC (which is brought up in the next chapter) – It's all real! :o

The one thing is: I speak NO other language then English. So I used google translator. I put the English words after anything in a different language (damn Emily for knowing all those languages :/)

ANYWAYS, please review, and I hope you enjoy (:

Fixation33 / Haley


	2. Recruited

[Chapter One: Recruited]

... ... ... ... ...

_Middle Street, Portland, Maine, United States of America, 11:39a.m.; 18 February 2002_

"Bonjour?" _Hello._

"You clear?"

"Donnez-moi une seconde." _Give me a second._

Six steps and a casual sweep of the surrounding area provided Emily with the amount of time and assurance she required to step off the main road. With an air of annoyed finality, she sighed while refraining herself from looking back at the man she was trailing. She lowered her head, allowing her scarf to slightly cover her mouth, appearing to any individual that she was protecting herself from the chilly wind. This acted as a simple guise as she proceeded to speak into the cell-phone she still had positioned at her ear.

"Why the _hell_ did you call me, Dowell," Emily snapped, "when you _knew _this was probably my only chance to watch Keale."

"Well," Agent Martin Dowell replied, drawing out the word loftily as Emily's brows furrowed. "Apparently you've been removed from this assignment. Rather abruptly, might I say. What did you do?"

"_Nothing_," Emily stressed, frowning and clenching her teeth. "Who told you that?"

"Oh, you know, just the Director himself_._"

"Really?" she questioned, unable to contain the surprise, shock, and overwhelming curiosity that laced her voice.

"Yeah, the big sonnuvabit – uhm, uh…"

"Dowell?" Emily asked, concerned.

"Yeah, uh, he's standing right here," he said awkwardly.

Emily heard a tentative 'Good afternoon, Sir' from the opposite end of their connection, forcing her to cease the small chuckle that attempted to escape. _That would happen,_ she thought as she gently leaned herself against a brick wall that housed a small bakery. She vaguely listened to a few muffled words that were spoken between the Agent she had grown fond to banter with and their Director. As she waited, Emily watched the movements of innocent, or seemingly innocent, civilians walking past her. This job had quickly taught her that _everybody_ has secrets and no one is as innocent as they appear to be.

"Agent Prentiss?"

Her superior's sudden voice cut through her thoughts startling her as she replied with a quick 'Sir?' and immediately straightened her posture before she remembered they were conversing over the phone.

"I am positive that you are confused about this abrupt change of events. However," he said easily, though Emily could decipher a hidden, ambiguous tone, "you have been brought to other's attention."

"Other's attention, Sir?" Emily questioned, hesitantly. _Last time I was 'brought to other's attention' I ended up having to camp out in thirty-below weather, _she remembered scathingly.

"Agent, as I'm sure you've already realized, this is a sensitive discussion–"

"No offence, _Sir_, but I–"

"No offence to _you_, Agent Prentiss, but you are to catch the first flight back, which, according to the screen sitting in front of me, is in two hours. There'll be a car waiting for you outside of Reagan National to take you back to Headquarters. I expect to see you in my office as soon as you arrive."

_Click. _That's all that Emily heard afterwards aside from the dial tone and her frustrated growl she released as she proceeded to shove her phone into her coat pocket and took off down the street, in search for an available cab.

... ... ... ... ...

_Director Remira's Office, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virgina, United States of America, 4:03p.m.; 18 February 2002_

_Knock, knock. _Preliminary thinking, Emily noticed, as she confidently knocked on the Director's door, preparing herself for what she had already accepted as a no-option offer. _Doesn't mean I won't push it,_ she thought unconsciously.

"Come in, Agent."

Hearing the firm voice immediately sound beyond the closed door, Emily let her closed fist run down from its original position until it rested upon the handle. Breathing in once, she turned the brass knob. Releasing the soft breath she had inhaled, Emily gently pushed the door open and closed it behind her instantaneously. Meeting eyes with the now standing Director, she stood still at his office's entrance with a straight posture, nodding slightly as a way of greeting.

"Sit," Director Remira said, gesturing with an open hand towards the leather chairs facing his desk. Once Emily lowered herself into the chair that didn't allow her back to face the window, the Director reclaimed his own seat, placing his hands on the desk in front of him as he interlocked his fingers. Emily sat in silence, her own hands folded in her lap, watching as her superior gathered his thoughts. After surveying the agent in front of him carefully, he nodded once, sighed, and started to speak.

"Following the aftermath of the events brought to us on September the eleventh," he started, pausing for a moment to remember those fallen, he sighed once more as he glanced at the flag on the adjacent wall of his office, "the United States, as well as multiple Western agencies, have come to an agreement regarding counter-terrorism. You have been chosen to work on a special task force that has been newly implemented, designed to profile terrorists. You leave for France tomorrow morning, at zero hundred hours, sharp, to meet the rest of your team."

Emily took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling herself for this seemingly decided conversation. "Do I not get a chance to look over the details and, I don't know, choose for myself?"

"No chance whatsoever, actually. This is an elite group consisting of handpicked agents with formidable histories," the Director said in a firm voice. "Agent Prentiss, to be chosen for this team is an honour and an irrevocable opportunity and it is one that you especially will not be ignoring. Only three other agents, one being your new team leader, have been chosen, and that is because the four of you are _all_ the best profilers within your respective agencies."

After a slight staring contest in which Emily clenched and unclenched her molars repeatedly, she actually _thought_ about it. Despite hating the knowledge that, once again, politics were at play and forcing her around, she accepted the inevitable conclusion that she was to work on this task force. Suddenly, she lifted her chin and nodded slightly. The Director correctly took the motion as acceptance and slightly relaxed his physical stature. Releasing his hands from the other, he gently pulled the folder lying innocently on his desk towards himself a few inches, glancing up to see Emily watching him carefully. Raising his eyebrows, he flipped over the cover, and started to speak.

"JTF-12, or Joint Task Force Number Twelve, as I said before, is designed to profile terrorists internationally – mostly regarding Europe and the United States. You'll be working with France's DCRI agent, Tsia Mosely, Germany's BND agent, Jeremy Wolff, and your team leader, Britain's SIS agent, Clyde Easter. Your intel will be provided by whichever agency is dealing with the target, and, of course, through the I-24/7 system. It has been decided that this team will engage in reconnaissance missions, however, your main priority will be creating an efficient and accurate profile. Possible undercover work is implied under the job description as well, and I know you've been faced with all of those tasks previously."

Emily listened to her Director's words with rapt attention, nodding in understanding every once in awhile. As her specialty was psychology, she figured this position was one that she would excel in.

"Where will we be working from?"

"There is a newly structured building in Paris that is headed by a French General, though it incorporates agents from Germany, Great Britain, France, Australia, Canada, and, of course, the United States. This Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, or CTIC, has been named 'Alliance Base,' and you are to regard this building as your new command post until further notice. Furthermore, you will hence force be under contract by the CTIC, and you will meet the General and your new Director tomorrow along with your team. Do you have any more questions?"

"No, Sir."

"Very well," he said as he stood, while Emily rose only a moment behind. Walking around his desk to show Emily to the door, he spoke once more. "It has been a pleasure, Agent Prentiss, and I can only hope you continue to be as effective as you have been," he said, now facing Emily at his office door. "You will be a great asset to this counterterrorism task force."

"Thank you, Sir," Emily replied with a carefully constructed face. "It has been… an experience I will never, or can never, forget."

"I can certainly understand that, Agent," the Director said, producing a small smile. Pulling out a 6x10 brown envelope out of the inside of his jacket, he handed it to her with raised eyebrows. "This is your plane ticket to Paris where an Agent will be waiting for you to take you to AB as well as a fake passport and identity. Cassandra Belac – born and raised in Washington, D.C. – will be your temporary identity and the one you are too utilize when travelling between the U.S. and Europe. You can leave your extra bags in your apartment – we'll send them to Paris for you via a private plane later on."

"Of course," she said, taking the proffered bundle.

"Also, you'll have your own supply of fire-arms at the Alliance Base," he said as he opened the door, allowing Emily to exit first. "You may leave your weapons here, or wherever you have them stored – that passport, however, entails you to one fire-arm on the plane as long as it remains–"

"–concealed unless there are extenuating circumstances that require it," Emily finished with a brief smile… it was the same every time.

"Yes, Agent," the Director said. Then, with a small smirk, he gestured down the hallway and said, "Just don't piss off your superiors out there – try and contain the smart-ass remarks for when they know your abilities first hand and are unable to fire you with conscious thought."

"Isn't that what I did with you?"

"Yes."

"Then I think I have that down, thanks though," Emily said with a small laugh as she lifted her hand in a final good-bye, and set off through the hallway, down the elevator, and departed Langley for, what she thought, would be her final time as strictly a CIA agent.

... ... ... ... ...

_Number 34, Third Floor, CIA Apartment Building, Langley, Virginia, United States of America, 5:47p.m.; 18 February 2002_

Getting her things together didn't take long – being a CIA agent didn't leave her much time, and, as she was single, living in an apartment that she would only occupy a few weeks at a time until she left the city for another mission would require spending useless money. Therefore, to make it easy on herself, she lived within a government owned building along with other Agents with similar thoughts as hers. Packing her essentials in one suitcase took a quick amount of time as she was experienced at light, but efficient packing. Emily then packed a second and third suitcase with her remaining clothing as well as an extra bag to house her small collection of books and other small things she had gathered among the years. After placing the four bags near the door, she went to her kitchen table to quickly write out three exact tags: _11147F6 / CTIC / Paris_. Once she wrote out those, Emily pulled out the bundle that had been given to her. Reading the third sheet of paper that she knew would be enclosed, she moved onto a fourth tag, and wrote what she read off the paper: _Name: Cassandra Belac / Address: 1502 30__th__ Street, Washington, D.C. / Phone Number: 202-607-8255. _

Emily then proceeded to put the tags on each bag, insuring the false tag went on the suitcase she was taking directly to France. Leaving her extra fire-arms in their designated space, knowing the tenant would just return them to headquarters for her once she handed in her key the next morning, Emily placed her secured weapon within her coat. Finally, after Emily placed a change of clothes on her bed for when she was too leave, she left her building to get a quick supper as she only had a few hours to arrive at the airport.

... ... ... ... ...

_[Author's Note]  
>Oh, hey (: Did you review? ;)<em>

_If you didn't read the prequel AN, I'm not going to be posting another chapter until a week (about), but it'll be worth the wait :P_

_ALSO, if you didn't read the another AN (again), yes, I have no clue how to speak/write French. So, say hello to google translator! And the English text beside it…_

_**[Lingo]  
><strong>__BND: _Bundesnachrichtendienst;the CIA equivalent in Germany. Located in Pullach and Berlin.

_Counterterrorist Intelligence Center:_ "a counterterrorist operations center run jointly by the CIA and foreign intelligence services as part of the US "War on Terror"." (directly from Wikipedia)

_DCRI:_ Direction Centrale du Renseignement Intérieur (Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence) the CIA equivalent in France. Located in Levallois-Perret, France.

_I-24/7: _Interpol's secure, worldwide network communications system that allows Interpol agents and member countries to contact each other at any time. It also provides its databases and allows member countries to access each other's criminal databases. (paraphrased from Wikipedia)

_Reagan National: _Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport located in Washington D.C. that is only about ten minutes from Langley, Virgina.

_SIS: _Secret Intelligence Service (or MI6); the CIA equivalent in the UK. Responsible for providing the British Government with foreign intelligence. Located in London.


	3. Too Many Faces

[Chapter Two: Too Many Faces]

... ... ... ... ...

Shashi Deshpande once wrote: "Self-revelation is a cruel process. The real picture, the real "you" never emerges. Looking for it is as bewildering as trying to know how you really look. Ten different mirrors show you ten different faces."

.

_Security Gates, Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, Paris, France, 1:36p.m.; 19 February 2002_

Time changes were never something Emily was able to get used to, so when she stepped out of the black sedan and looked at her watch and saw the time _7:36a.m._ flash back at her, she groaned audibly. Knowing that the six hour time difference placed the time after twelve, she sighed, wishing she had gained more sleep. She slept well enough on her seven hour flight out of Reagan National Airport, but the anxiousness of meeting new people (her new _team_) made her time slept very restless. Opening the back door of the sedan, Emily pulled out her suitcase and handed it to the guard for him to look through as she handed another guard her real passport and provided other necessary information. Once the basic interrogation was finished, the first guard replaced her suitcase in the back while the other guard returned her passport and a new id tag. Without looking at either, she placed them in her jacket as she sat in the passenger seat once more. On the short ride up to the front doors of the building, Emily's thoughts were occupied by her previous experiences of meeting new people and all the faces she was forced to wear.

... ... ... ... ...

_Ambassador's Residence, Rome, Italy, 6:27p.m.; 20 October 1985_

"Emily, can you _please_ try to interact with our guests and _act_ like a Prentiss should?"

"No, because then I am expected to converse fluently in Italian, and Mother, I _just _started to learn it."

"This will be a helpful learning curve, wont it, then?" Elizabeth Prentiss responded as she became increasingly frustrated with her daughter.

"_No_, it won't be," Emily growled, completely content with just sitting in the chair she had occupied since supper.

"Ambassador Prentiss! I'm sorry we were late," a man said as him and his son walked up to the pair, unknowingly cutting into a conversation. Emily stood out of her chair and briefly raised her eyebrows at the English speaking people, hoping that her Mother wouldn't suddenly turn and force her to speak in Italian. "We would have been here earlier, but we had family matters to attend to."

"Gregory Cooley, I'm glad you could make it! That's quite alright, I understand family is more important than these political gatherings," Elizabeth said, causing Emily to discretely roll her eyes and quietly mutter, "Like you think that."

"You must be Emily," the man named Gregory said, extending his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine, Sir," Emily said obediently, accepting his hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the boy bite his lip to contain his laughter.

"You are fifteen, correct?"

"Yes, Sir," Emily replied, "by only a few days."

"Ahh, so you had a birthday recently?"

"On the twelfth," Emily said, nodding. _He seems friendly enough… and Mother doesn't look like she wants to beat the Italian language into me._

"Did you get anything special?"

_A crushed soul? Loss of friends I had just finally started to warm up too? More cardboard boxes? _"Well, I received a plane ticket to Rome, Italy," Emily said with a small, believable smile, despite it being completely fake. "And I was given this necklace," she mentioned, producing a genuine smile. She fingered the necklace that was a simple silver chain with a 2-D Eiffel Tower charm, completely made of silver with small diamonds lining the edges.

"It's beautiful, Emily," he said, smiling. Just as he was about to open his mouth to say something else, Elizabeth spoke.

"Gregory, why don't we catch up and then speak to the Prime Minister – I have a few ideas that I'd like to start on right away."

"Of course, Ambassador," he replied easily, gesturing that she could lead. "This is my son, John," Gregory said, introducing the boy who was standing politely beside him. "I daresay you'll be seeing much of each other as you'll both be attending Marymount," he commented. Then, looking directly at his son as he started to walk away, he said, "Behave, John."

"Yes, Sir."

After casting his son a look of disbelief, he shook his head and followed the Ambassador.

"'_Pleasure's all mine, Sir!_'" John mimicked with a laugh.

"What, you have a problem with manners?" Emily snapped, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh, no, no I don't," John chuckled, "but _really_? That was complete suck-up material."

"I was hardly trying to suck-up to your father," she replied, wrinkling her nose. "I don't even know who he _is_, so why would I try and suck-up?"

"He works in the U.S. Embassy as well – we used to live in the States too, five years ago," he replied, sitting in a chair that was beside the chair Emily reoccupied. "And I don't know why you would – everyone does… it's kind of annoying, actually."

Emily frowned at John's aloof personality… at least she _tried _to act like a good kid while she was forced into these parties. "Don't you want to at least _try _and get on some of these people's good sides?"

"Not really," he replied. He smirked and said, "Why do you? Seems like you'll just disappoint them later on anyways."

"How would I do that?"

"You're hardly the good, obedient child, Emily Prentiss," John laughed. "I heard what you mumbled earlier – my dad and the Ambassador may not have heard, but I definitely did."

Emily's cheeks turned bright red and she looked around to see if anyone was listening. Noticing the coast was clear, she looked back at John and said awkwardly, "Well, I was only speaking the truth."

He nodded his head sympathetically and said, "Yeah, and that little smile you put on when you mentioned your plane ticket, that may have fooled our parents, but you're not too happy about it, are you?"

Emily cast her eyes downwards and mumbled a quick "no." Looking back up at John's face, she was unable to handle his sympathetic face, and she said, "Well, it wasn't that bad I guess… it's not like I made the best friends within the year I was in Paris, but still – I hate that I have to do all of that over again."

John nodded his head in understanding and looked onto the crowd that was in the room. "Listen, why don't we leave this stuffy room with a bunch of political maniacs, and go outside – I'll tell you about some of the things there are to do in Rome?"

Emily hesitated for a moment, looked over at her Mother, and made a quick decision. "Yeah, let's go… follow me."

... ... ... ... ...

_Cafeteria, Marymount International, Rome, Italy, 12:08p.m.; 23 October 1985_

"Uh, Emily, right?"

Emily's head snapped to the side, raising her eyebrows slightly. Once she caught site of the boy who addressed her, she attempted to contain the blush that threatened to rise.

"Yeah… John? What's up?" she answered, pretending to forget his name.

"Nothing… I just saw you over here," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head, "and wondered if you wanted to come eat… over there… with me and the guy I was telling you about the other day?"

_Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool._

"Uhm, sure? Thanks," Emily responded, smiling internally _and_ externally.

"Great!" he replied loudly, causing multiple people to look over in confusion. _FAIL. So much for playing it cool._

Emily raised her eyebrows and allowed a small chuckle to escape as she allowed John to lead her to the other side of the room.

... ... ... ... ...

_U.S. Embassy, Via Veneto Street, Rome, Italy, 10:23a.m.; 26 June 1988_

"Ciao, Theresa," seventeen year old Emily Prentiss said with a small smile and a courteous wave. "Come sta?" _(How are you?)_

"I am well… and you know you're welcome to speak English to me, Em," the secretary said with a smile.

"Yeah, but with my luck, Mother would open the door and reprimand me twenty times over, and then invite the Italian President just to tell him that I am inept at speaking such an easy language and how much I'm an embarrassment and _then_ –"

"Emily!" Theresa said in a sprout of laughter which effectively cut the young woman's rant short. "I assure you, if I notice Ambassador Prentiss' door handle move an inch, I'll be sure to warn you. However, I think you should tuck in your shirt, just in case she _does_ come out."

"Oh, right," Emily laughed nervously as she tucked in her shirt into her jeans, "thanks, Theresa… you always tend to save me there."

"Anytime, _tesoro_," she replied, smiling sweetly. That was the thing with Theresa, Emily always felt adored, despite only knowing her for three years. She reflected back on her actual Mother's words, and never once did she use endearments in _any_ language. Sighing slightly, Emily produced a small, sad smile and asked:

"Do you happen to know why my mother asked me here? Normally she doesn't allow me to be in the embassy unless it's an emergency?"

"I –" Theresa started, but faltered, causing Emily to furrow her brows. Picking up the phone and pressing three buttons in succession, she waited three seconds until the other side was answered. Smiling sympathetically at Emily, she said into the phone, "L'ambasciatore, sua figlia è arrivata... Sì signora." (_Ambassador, your daughter has arrived… Yes, ma'am.) _As soon as the phone clicked back down onto the base, Theresa hesitantly looked up to meet Emily's eyes. "I'm sorry, Em, but your Mother should be the one to inform you."

After visibly gulping, Emily slowly nodded and turned around without another word or a trace of any smile. She walked across the room to the regal oak door with a silver, engraved nameplate reading:

_Elizabeth Prentiss  
>Ambassador of the United States to the Italian Republic<br>L'ambasciatore degli Stati Uniti alla Repubblica italiana_

Taking an extra five seconds standing in front of the door, Emily swallowed, stood with her back straight and a lifted chin, rotated the door knob ninety degrees and pushed her way into the office gracefully. Stopping her movements at the site of another man in the office, Emily paused with her hand still poised on the door knob and feet only halfway through the entrance.

"Chiudere la porta, Emily ed il gawking di fermata," (_Close the door, Emily, and stop gawking_) the Ambassador said abruptly with an elegant frown on her face.

Acting immediately, Emily quickly shut the door and stepping further into the office.

"I'm sorry, Mother, but I wa –"

"L'italiano, Emily!" she said condescendingly as she cut her eyes to the other man standing in her office.

"Sono spiacente, la Madre. Intendevo dire che non mi aspettavo nessuno altro di essere qui dentro," (_I am sorry, Mother. I was going to say that I was not expecting anyone else to be in here_) Emily said, forcing herself to stay polite. Shifting her attention to the stranger standing before her, she politely stretched out her arm in an offer to shake hands and said, "Salve, Signore–?"

"Nemeral. Brian Nemeral. It is pleasure to meet you, Emily," he said with a handshake and a small, sly smile. Emily forced herself to contain her amusement as she knew her Mother would not be pleased. "However, I was just leaving –"

"You do not have to leave, Brian," the Ambassador said. "We still have matters to discuss –"

"Nonsense, Ambassador," he interrupted, causing Emily's eyebrows to shoot up into her hairline. _Wow, someone actually spoke across her and she didn't breathe fire!_ Emily thought in amazement. "I will be sure to be back within the hour," he mentioned before he turned to the shocked teenager in the room. "Perhaps we'll meet again, Emily. Have a good day," he finished with a friendly smirk and wink as he understood her predicament and shock. Facing the Ambassador once more, he bowed his head slightly and smiled.

Emily's eyes followed his figure out of the room as she was filled with confusion, intrigue, and entertainment. That was until he shut the door and her Mother abruptly stood up. Returning her focus to her Mother, Emily urged her blood-pressure to stay under control and, more than anything, her mouth.

"You should know better than to speak in the English language when there are others around, Emily," the Ambassador said in anger. Anger that Emily knew wasn't _completely_ directed to her.

"I am sorry, Mother," she replied through gritted teeth.

"I very much doubt that you are," she said in disappointment. Emily knew that her Mother wanted her to be the premise of perfection to everyone, though she also knew that she _hated _politics: especially the politics where her Mother was involved.

"What is the reason that you asked me here?" Emily said forcefully, not bothering to be polite anymore.

"Brian Nemeral is to be the new Ambassador in Rome –"

"We're moving _again_?" Emily growled.

"Do _not_ speak to me like that again, Emily!"

"No! I don't _care._ All I want is to stay in _one_ place! Is that so damn hard, Mother?"

"What do you want me to _do_ Emily," Elizabeth said as she gathered herself to her full height. "This is my job, and I expect you to accept that small fact."

Taking a few deep breaths, Emily shook her head in defeat – she knew there was no point in fighting with the woman who took down people a lot more important than herself. "Fine," Emily muttered. "Where are you posted now?" '_Where am I going to have to get to know _more _people who I need to befriend just to leave?'_ is what she asked in her head.

Sitting back down in her chair, the Ambassador reached for her phone. "I am to stay in the United States for two years at the most," she said as she started to dial a number. "I'll be working within the State Department."

"When are –"

"You may leave now, Emily," the Ambassador interrupted as she placed the phone by her ear. "You should go and say good-bye to your friends, we leave in three days."

Taking the clear dismissal, Emily backed out of the office, passed Theresa who looked up and provided her with a sympathetic, apologetic smile, and immediately exited the Embassy Building.

... ... ... ... ...

_Garfield High School, Akron, Ohio, United States of America, 3:12p.m.; 29 September1988_

"Madame Prentiss!" a man said with a loud voice, intending to capture the almost-eighteen year old girl's attention.

"Chuck, chill!" Emily laughed along with her 'friends.' Meeting people in her new town in Ohio didn't take nearly as long as she expected. Though, the process may have been sped up by her change in appearance in order to fit in – so what if she had to dress a little Goth and apply some heavy makeup. She had to admit to herself the music they listened to wasn't that bad, and there life stories kind of made her feel better: though she didn't stop herself from telling them about her bitch mother who, despite not being the ideal daughter, continued to fund her every move.

"Yeah, Chuck, why don't you just go make some more money while we all just lay here and die slowly," Darien muttered, laying with his back against a tree. Darien was the only one who still didn't accept her out of the four people in her new group. However, Emily had long since figured that she couldn't complain all that much as he was one of the most depressing people she had ever met.

Chuck walked up to where the five teenagers were lounging on the grass and said, "Your Mother is waiting at the house for you –"

"Can you tell her to go back to D.C. for me?" Emily muttered, closing her eyes. However, she promptly shot her eyes back open and produced a humorous smile. "Never mind, scratch that," she said with a smile.

"Uh, Em, why exactly are you _smiling_ at the thought of Am-bitch-ador waiting for you?" Aleah asked her, applying the lame but true nickname that was occasionally used.

"Because, I can't wait for her to see me," Emily said as she pushed herself off the ground. "Well, I mean, my appearance, as she hasn't exactly seen me since July."

... ... ... ... ...

_[Author's Note]  
>Okay, I lied. I decided to post this chapter before I leave – so here you go. (:<br>Review? Thanks ;)  
>Fixation 33  Haley_

_**[Lingo]**_

_Marymount International-_ A secondary school in Rome Italy

_Tesoro- _It means 'treasure' in Italian


	4. Joint Task Force Number Twelve

[Chapter Three: Joint Task Force Number Twelve]

... ... ... ... ...

Henry Fielding once wrote: "These are called the pious frauds of friendship."

.

_Front Doors, Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, Paris, France, 1:45p.m.; 19 February 2002_

"If you walk through those doors," Agent Meieux, the man who picked her up from the airport, said, "and turn to your left, there'll be someone there to show you where to go."

"Thank you," Emily said with a small smile as she shut the door to the black sedan. _Not too damn friendly_, she thought.

Picking up her small suitcase, she proceeded to walk up the set of stairs leading to the magnificent doors that led into the building. After going through the immediate set of doors, Emily found herself faced with another set of doors that happened to be locked. _The agent didn't exactly tell me this_, she thought. Noticing a small scanner on the side of the large door seemingly made of steel, she knew immediately that this would be a heavily secured building. Taking a moment to sigh, Emily removed the tag that had been given to her at the security gates. Locating the thin barcode positioned at the bottom, she swiped the tag down vertically through the slit provided. The small light flashed green and Emily heard a slight buzzing noise. Taking this as confirmation that she indeed did it correctly, she pushed the door open to reveal the inside of her new headquarters.

The first thing Emily noticed was that the ceiling was quite high above her head, despite knowing that there were multiple levels to the building. The lights were quite bright and provided what appeared to look like a natural light. The section where Emily was standing was a smaller portion, though she knew that it was just the entrance way. Walking to her left, where there was a secretary's desk that was positioned high off the ground, Emily placed the tag back in her coat pocket.

"How can I help you?" asked the lady who was sitting at the desk.

"I'm not actually sure where I'm supposed to go first," Emily said, "but I'm part of the JTF-12?"

"Ah, right – Director Van Hoof and the General will be with your team in room 308 located in the section designated to that task force," she replied, glancing at her computer after typing in a few words. "You're Agent… Emily Prentiss?"

"Yes," Emily said, smiling slightly.

"Perfect – if you just walk down to the elevator and ride to the third floor, you'll look to your right and see another secretary. She'll be able to show you where to go from there," the secretary, Allison, her nameplate read, said.

"Alright, thank you. Have a good day."

"You too, Agent. Oh!" Allison said suddenly, causing Emily to turn around abruptly. "I almost forgot – before you press a number on the elevator, you need to swipe your id tag."

"Ah, I have no doubt that it'll be like that everywhere in here," Emily said, chuckling. "But thank you."

"Anytime."

Walking straight down an open path which clearly had two elevators at the end, Emily's eyes lingered on the walls. On the left side of the hall, six different flags were lined up in one straight row – the Tricolore, the Star-Spangled Banner, the Bundesdienstflagge, the Australian National Flag, the Union Jack, and the Maple Leaf occupied the whole length of the twenty-five foot wall. While on the right side of the hall, a Wall of Fallen Agents had already been started – only six names were shown so far, Emily noted. _Let's try and keep it that way_, she thought. Once she reached the set of elevators, she pressed the up button and patiently waited for one to arrive. After only twenty seconds of waiting, the left elevator door _dinged_ and opened to an empty compartment.

After stepping into the shaft, Emily pulled her tag back out and swiped it immediately, pressed the _3_, and waited for the doors to close. She chose that moment to take a look at her new ID tag – which didn't look much different from her old one: even the small picture was the one the CIA took when she first joined. Other than that and the barcode, the rest printed on the plastic was words:

_Counterterrorism Intelligence Center  
>French Republic<em>

_Agent Emily Prentiss, CIA_  
><em>CL5<em>

The only thing differing from her previous tag was the division and location, as well as the 'CIA' portion. Clipping the small tag onto the right side of her shirt, she watched as the floor number turned to three and heard another _ding_. Once the doors slid open, Emily stepped out and instantaneously turned to her right. As the secretary there looked up, Emily smiled and introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Agent Prentiss," she said, glancing down at the nameplate on the desk. _Kelly_, Emily thought repeatedly, trying to remember her name. "I was told to ask you where room 308 is?"

"Ah yes, they're waiting for you, Agent," Kelly said, gesturing down the wide hallway. "If you walk straight down there and turn to your left, there'll be four stations – I believe two are already taken, so you may choose between the two left. You can place your bag there as well," she said, gesturing to the suitcase sitting beside Emily. "When you're finished with that, walk up the small flight of open stairs and go to the third room – you should see people in there already."

"Alright, thank you… Kelly?" Emily said, unsure of what to call her.

"Kelly is fine, Agent," she said smiling.

"Okay, well, uh," Emily started awkwardly, "thank you, again."

"It's no problem," she replied, shooting Emily one last smile, and then turning back to her computer.

Making her way once again down a hallway she turned to the left once she came up to a wall, only to find the need to turn to the right after only a few steps, rather than walking straight and ending going directly into a supply closet. There were two adjoining, wide glass doors with an insignia occupying the middle – the symbol was rather simple, displaying a map with curved edges and the six regions that were involved in the CTIC a shade darker than the rest. Opening one side of the door, her eyes were directed to the work stations that appeared to be the JTF's bullpen.

Two sets of two work stations faced each other with a small divider between the desks that were directly beside one another. The two desks that appeared to already be occupied were across from each other, closest to the stairs. Emily's eyes took in both occupied chairs – and they both appeared to act as a coat rack as each of them had a man's jacket hanging off of them. Deciding to choose the desk that allowed her back to be positioned against the wall, she set her suitcase on the empty desk that was only occupied by a computer. Removing her jacket as well, she mimicked the other two and placed it on the back of her new chair.

Glancing over to the small, open staircase that led to a platform with what looked to be four different doors, her eyes immediately found the door that was partially open. She moved around the desks and up the narrow staircase slowly, growing nervous on the inside which completely contradicted her calm exterior. Emily noticed that with each door she passed, there was a small brass plate located directly beside each handle on the wall that mentioned the number of the room as well as what it was used for. When she reached the third door, her eyes automatically dropped to the brass plate that was engraved with the words: _[308] Insensitive Information Room_.

_So, just a normal meeting room then, _Emily thought sarcastically. She hesitated for a split-second before she knocked on the open door and stepped inside the spacious room. The two men who were sitting at the large oval table – situated in the center of the room surrounded by high-backed chairs – looked up at her immediately and she couldn't help feeling as if she were being analyzed. The larger built man, Emily could tell, was the German BND agent, just from his facial features. Where the other man had a smaller stature, Emily had no doubt that he was British, and her team leader, as soon as he started to speak.

"Agent Emily Prentiss," he said in his thick British accent, smiling thinly. He gestured to the seat that was to his right and said, "Come sit, get to know us. We're all profilers – we'll know each other in no time, right?"

Raising her eyebrows, she looked at him sceptically, but still took the proffered seat. _As if you could get to know me just because you profile_, she thought.

As if he could sense her internal thought, he leaned back in his chair and said, "I was kidding, just so you know – bloody hell, you people are so easy."

"And British people _actually_ say 'bloody hell,'" Emily retorted. "Way to be a British stereotype."

_Great,_ she thought, _I'm _already _arguing with him and it's been a minute._

"Now, now, kids," the BND agent laughed.

_What was his name again… Wolff? Jeremy, I think?_ Emily mused internally.

"No need to fight," Agent Wolff said.

"I'm hardly fighting. It's just a minor quarrel. I heard it helped team bonding… at least I _think_ I read it somewhere," Clyde Easter commented, "right Agent Prentiss?"

"Yeah, just a minor quarrel," she repeated, rolling her eyes.

"But I was serious," Clyde said, folding his hands over his stomach, looking from Wolff to Prentiss. "We _do_ need to get to know each other – become a _team_."

"Well we're missing one quarter of our team," Wolff said.

"Yeah, and the French portion, too," Emily mentioned, furrowing her eyebrows. "I would've thought _I'd_ be the last one here, you know… being seven hours away opposed to a cab drive."

Clyde smiled humorously and said, "You know, I was thinking that too – how alike we are, CIA."

"Hey, MI-6, you want to call me CIA," Emily retorted, leaning her elbow on the table so she was facing the two other agents, "I'll come up with a horrible nickname that will stick with you forever. I've put Agents to shame just by calling them their nicknames over the waves."

"Oh yeah, like what?" he challenged, lolling his head to the side, still lounging in his chair.

"I caused an action agent I worked with two years ago – who has approximately a seventy percent muscle mass with a last name of Chisholm – to have his nickname 'Sergeant Beanpole Jizzum' be repeated within a span of twenty minutes by two six year olds and a thirteen month old who only ever said 'momma.'"

"I'm sure that kid's parents were thrilled," Jeremy laughed while Clyde smiled in amusement, propping himself up.

"Uh, yeah," Emily chuckled, remembering that incident. "We left fairly quickly before their parents came back… but it's not like I _meant_ for them to say it – we were walking by and I said it, and then they heard."

"Okay," Clyde amended, entertained, "maybe I won't call you CIA. How about...–"

"Don't even think of a nickname, and I won't think of one for you."

"You probably already have one."

Emily hesitated, and smiled evilly, "Okay, so maybe I do, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, nothing at all," he answered, smirking. "So, we already established before you arrived that, when it's just our team, Jeremy is known as Jeremy, and I am known as Clyde."

"Okay," Emily said, surprised at his abrupt, not-so-subtle change of conversation. "Uh, then it's just Emily, for me."

"Got it," Clyde said, with Jeremy nodding in the background. Before he could say something else, there was another knock at the door, following the entrance of the last member of their team. As everyone's eyes travelled to the woman standing just inside the door frame, Clyde said, "Ah, there's our DCRI agent!"

"Clyde Easter, SIS, I presume?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows slightly.

_Wow, he makes a _great_ first impression on everyone,_ Emily thought comically. _Or maybe it's just the females… who knows?_

"You got that in one shot… beautiful detecting skills," he replied.

"Do you have to be such a sarcastic ass to everyone?" Emily interrupted.

Surprised, Tsia Mosely turned her attention to her apparent ally in the room, while Jeremy laughed slightly and Clyde just shook his head.

"My, my, Emily," Clyde answered, looking back to her. "Aren't you a vicious one? I like that."

"Wow, way to sound like a very large creep, Clyde."

"It's my way to attract people, is it working?"

"No."

"They've been attacking each other basically the whole time since Emily got here, and that's been about ten minutes," Jeremy said to Tsia who had made her way around the table to stand beside him. "Jeremy Wolff, Germany BND… but we're all going by first names here," he mentioned as he offered his hand to shake.

She accepted it and answered him in the same way, "Tsia Mosely, and, as charmer over there said, French DCRI."

"Once you two are finished getting acquainted –"

"Oh, you two have finally stopped fighting?" Jeremy commented, speaking over Clyde.

"Yes, very funny, Wolff," Clyde said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm Emily," Emily said to Tsia. "I'd offer you to shake my hand but I'd rather not reach across Clyde."

"I think I can understand that hesitation," she laughed. "And I'm Tsia, as I'm sure you've already realized."

"Yes, and you know," Clyde interrupted the conversation, pulling his chair so that he was as close to the table as he could get. Placing his arms on the table and hunching his shoulders, he said, "We're quite concerned – how is it that our CIA agent arrived before someone who was twenty minutes away."

"_Clyde_," Emily huffed under her breath, letting her head gently bounce off the back of her chair.

"What, you're the one who said it earlier!"

"Yeah, but I was just commenting… I wasn't about to just blurt that out."

"I didn't blurt it out either," he said as he defended himself. "I just simply asked the question that was on my mind."

"Well, if you must know," Tsia interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Without breaking the Multinational Official Secrets Agreement, I was _busy_."

"Vague, that's just great," Clyde muttered.

"Yeah, like you'd tell us what you were _busy _with," Emily said.

"Please stop," Jeremy said as he started to massage his temples, though he was promptly ignored.

"I have a feeling this is going to happen a lot," Tsia mentioned, leaning back in her chair.

"Yeah, unfortunately I don't think it takes a profiler to guess that," Jeremy replied.

Then, without any warning, the door suddenly opened fully once more causing the two agents to stop bickering and the other two to stop watching them, amused and yet, exasperated. The two men who walked in were older and both held themselves strongly and stood at their full height.

"Getting along well?" one of them said, raising his eyebrows.

"Just smashing," Clyde said with a devilish smile, causing Emily to perform a not to elegant face palm and sigh.

The second man, who was slightly taller and had broader shoulders spoke next with a thick French accent: "Well, I certainly hope so as each of our nation's officials have a high expectation for this team and regard you four as one of their better ideas." He looked directly at Clyde and Emily and finished with, "I certainly do not wish to tell each of your nation's presidents or former superiors that you were unable to work together from the first day."

"That won't be necessary, Sir," Emily said immediately, discreetly stepping on Clyde's foot as he didn't say anything.

"Uh, yeah – we're going to mesh beautifully, don't you worry, Sir."

"You better hope so," he muttered, clearly not amused. "My name is General François Lachance, and, as you may know, I am from the French DGSE and have been recruited as the Head of this compound. I tend to be extremely busy, so, your main superior here is Director Dietgur Van Hoof," the General said, gesturing to the man standing beside him. "My office is on the fifth floor, if you ever need to speak directly to me. However, I must get back to my work, so, it was a pleasure to… meet everyone, and I expect to be hearing positive things about you."

With that, the General turned around and walked out of the meeting room and out of site, causing Clyde to let out a low whistle, causing Emily to bite down on her top lip to prevent her laughter from escaping.

"Charming," Jeremy muttered while everyone's attention was redirected to their Director.

"Well, as you've noticed our General isn't exactly a people person," the Director said with a grim smile as he pulled up a chair three seats down from Tsia, and turned it to face the team.

"Now that's an understatement," Clyde said causing Emily to give him a look that clearly said: 'Shut the _fuck _up.'

After providing Clyde with an understanding look, he addressed the whole team. "Listen, I'm not a hard-ass who likes to kill everyone and drill it into your heads that you need to be proper, and formal, and all that _fun_ stuff, _however_," he said, becoming serious. "The General was right – this team has been chosen carefully and each of your agencies were told to search deep into their agents and choose their best fits for this team… and you four were the ones chosen, out of thousands from your respective agencies. I _do_ expect you to succeed in your missions, no matter the cost. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the four of them said in unison.

Raising his eyebrows in minor surprise, he allowed a small smile to form on his face. "Good, I look forward to this team's efforts," he said finally. As he rose from his chair and made his way to the door, he said: "I am also very busy today – one of our other units are in the ending stages of making an arrest and I am to oversee it to make sure it is terminated flawlessly. Therefore, there will be someone else in here shortly to show you around the building and tomorrow I will brief you all in details on your duties."

As all the Agents raised their hands in small waves of departure, the Director was about to step out of the door before he turned around abruptly with a small, sly smile on his face. "Try not to kill each other, please. That'll be _a lot_ more paper work then I would appreciate."

"No promises!" Clyde exclaimed loudly as the Director shut the door, causing Emily to smirk while Jeremy and Tsia just groaned.

"Please, I actually don't want to see you murder each other," Tsia said.

"I won't _actually_ physically harm him in any way… until he gives me a significant reason to," Emily said, smiling evilly.

Clyde just replied with a shake of a head and a smirk, implying that he'd like to see her try. Sensing another argument coming on, Jeremy quickly changed the topic before _he _would have to take matters into his own hands.

"So, Director 'DEET-ger' Van Hoof… how the _hell _do you write that?"

"D-I-E-T-G-U-R."

"Uh, okay, how do you know that, Emily?" Tsia questioned, disbelief written all over her face.

"Uhm, well, it's a Belgian name meaning 'spear of the people,'" she answered, which only served to raise more eyebrows.

"Okay, now how do you know _that_?" Clyde asked, folding his arms, allowing himself to lounge back in his chair.

"Well – when my Mother was posted in Belgium, there was a kid in my class with the name Dietgur," Emily explained awkwardly. "And, well – we were in fifth grade and we were learning about name meanings and that type of thing."

"You lived in Belgium?" Clyde asked, impressed.

"Yeah, there and multiple other places, unfortunately," she added on with no enthusiasm.

"Like?"

Suddenly the door opened, allowing Emily to dodge the question, and a new, male voice said "Excuse me?"

"How can we help you?" Tsia asked, politely.

"I'm here to show you around," the man said, standing tall in the door way. "I'm Agent Drake Mullryan."

"And what did you do to get this shitty job?" Clyde questioned, pushing himself out of his chair as the others followed him.

"_Clyde_, could you just shut up, for like, twenty minutes?" Emily asked as she shook her head in disbelief. "You don't have to answer that," Emily told the Agent still standing by the door.

"I was just curious," Clyde muttered as they all trailed out of the meeting room.

... ... ... ... ...

_[Author's Note]  
>Thankfully I got my laptop back, but it came in later than I expected -_- Sorry for the wait – but better late than never! ;)<em>

_I'm party through the next chapter… but it's taking more than I expected :/ But, it'll be out soon enough!_

_Also, I regained my full-time job, starting on the 20__th__, so I won't have as much time to write this story :( But have no fear, I'm still continuing it!_

_**[Lingo]  
><strong>__Bundesdienstflagge:_ Germany's national flag

_DGSE:_ Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure (General Directorate for External Security) located in Paris

_Maple Leaf:_ Canada's national flag

_Star-Spangled Banner:_ USA's national flag

_Tricolore:_ France's national flag

_Union Jack:_ Britain's national flag (/UK)


	5. Operation Valhalla

[Chapter Four: Operation Valhalla]

... ... ... ... ...

_JTF-12 Bull-Pen, Third Floor, __Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, Paris, France,__ 1:23p.m.; 14 July 2003_

The stealth an intelligence agent gains throughout multiple years is in a large abundance – and Emily Prentiss was utilizing her skills as she crept closer and closer to the desk that was stationed diagonally across from hers. Crouching further into a lower position, her eyes darted back and forth around the spacious room and up the open staircase. Having the annoying urge to hum out the mission impossible theme song, she quickened her pace, while maintaining her position. Hearing the tinted glass doors squeak slightly as they opened, Emily rolled behind the large cabinet – it sat to the side closest to the stairs but in between Clyde and Jeremy's desks – while making a '_dun-dunnnnn_' noise, out loud.

"What the _hell_," a voice muttered in a strong British accent. Making his way to the cabinet that he just saw (and _heard_) someone go behind, Clyde shook his head. _Wasn't _anyone_ doing work around here?_ he thought, eyeing the empty room. _Obviously not,_ as he realized he asked himself a truly stupid question. Seeing no one behind the large cabinet, his eyebrows furrowed unconsciously. He turned around to glance through the seemingly empty bull-pen.

"Oh," Emily said, standing into an upright position, causing Clyde to whip around, "it's just you."

"What the hell were you doing?" he questioned with disbelief written across his face.

"The better question is," she started, grinning and leaning her hips into the opposite side of the cabinet, "why didn't you look _around_ this thing, Clyde? I mean... if this was a real situation, you would be dead..."

"Well, I figured a _real_ threat wouldn't have made spy noises while they disappeared out of site," he mentioned, raising one eyebrow with a smirk. He leaned onto the side of the cabinet he was on and said, "So, _why_ exactly are you creeping around our workspace?"

"That's confidential information," she answered cheekily.

"Oh really?" he asked, making his way around the barrier – the physical one, at least. "I could probably think of a few ways to get it out of you."

"Oh really?" she repeated, smiling coyly. "And how would you do that?" He was standing directly in front of her now. "Ropes, lasers... screwdrivers?"

"Calm down there with your sadomasochism," Clyde said sarcastically.

"I never said I'd enjoy it," Emily answered with a bright laugh. "And plus," she said in a conspiratorial tone, gradually leaning in, "I've never displayed any sadistic tendencies."

"_Easter, Prentiss,_" a loud voice sounded near the glass doors, causing the two to jump apart slightly. "Where is the rest of your team, and why is nobody working?"

_Funny, I asked myself the same question not five minutes ago_, Clyde thought. Out loud, he said, "I believe they went to get a late lunch – they were on the second floor all day."

"How long do you expect before they're back?"

"Probably thirty minutes at the most."

"Alright. When they get in, I want the four of you in my office," General Lachance said, and abruptly re-opened the door and walked away.

"Yes, Sir," Clyde muttered, as he shifted his eyes back to Emily, only to see her halfway to her desk. "Then you obviously have no idea what you're doing to me, then," he said in an even lower voice with his eyes still trained on Emily, his mind reverting back to their conversation.

"So, what have they been up to on second?" Emily questioned, dropping into her chair and pressing the power button on her desktop.

"I'll tell you if you tell me why you were going all double-oh-seven across the room," he said, walking over to sit on the edge of her desk.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Ah, ah, ahhh, Agent," Clyde said, smirking. "I said it first."

Emily huffed and glanced at the door quickly before she pushed her keyboard away from her to give her arms room to lean on the desk. "If you must know, I was about to get my revenge on Jeremy from the... _incident_."

Attempting to keep in the small laugh that threatened to escape at the thought while Emily's cheeks turned slightly pink, Clyde eventually just nodded in understanding. "Ah, well..."

"Don't say anything if you wish to keep your eyes, Easter."

"I was _just_ going to say it wasn't that bad – at least, not too bad."

"Did I not say, _say nothing_?" Emily huffed and yanked her keyboard back towards her.

"Well, I mean–"

"_Nuhhhhh-thinggggggg_," Emily stressed, looking over her computer to glare at Clyde. "Why must you always be such an idiot? Wait – don't answer that either. I know the response."

"Oh, do you now?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing up at him, "it's 'cause you have impulsive tendencies and can't help your true nature to show through."

"Are you trying to say I'm an idiot by nature?" Clyde asked, feigning innocence.

"I'm not _trying_ to say anything," Emily replied, selecting the print option of the document she had opened. "I just said the truth."

"I'm hurt."

"Don't take it too badly, Clyde," she said over the noise of her printer, "but, we all think it."

"Once again, it's like a knife driven through my heart."

"Poor you," Emily drawled sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Smirking up at him as she pulled the forms out of her printer, she grabbed a pen and started on the document. "So, are you going to tell me why they've been on second?"

"They get to test out some of the new… equipment."

"_What_?" Emily exclaimed, looking up from her paperwork.

"Yeah, I wanted the chance too," Clyde said, frowning slightly. "Apparently they've upgraded the fire speed on a few of our favourites."

"Hmm," Emily responded, going back to her work. "Let's hope they were dealing with Chad."

"Well, if they were working with Kenneth," Clyde said, laughing, "they wouldn't be gone for lunch – they'd be cleaning up their own blood."

"Yeah – I honestly have no idea why that guy doesn't like Jeremy and Tsia," Emily responded, finishing the quick document. "But, if it were me, I'd be petrified if a weapons specialist had serious qualms with me."

"Hell, I'd have a restraining order or something," Clyde said, winking. He grabbed the document she had finished as well as the pen and signed the bottom line. "I hate paperwork."

"We all do," Emily said, stealing her pen back as Clyde placed the paper in the designated box. After taking a stapler to three sheets, Emily started writing up the new sheet. "Don't you have your own paperwork – we just completed Operation Nyoto."

"Yes, but the difference between you and me," Clyde started, when he caught site of the doors opening, "is that I have a very large procrastination streak to me – don't you know that by now?

"Hey, ditchers," he said loudly, twirling his right index finger in seven-hundred and twenty degrees and making a repetitive clicking noise with his tongue. As soon as Tsia and Jeremy looked at him, he pointed to the door behind them and said, "We all have a meeting with the General – sounds like something special."

"Oh, yay," Tsia said.

"Pack'er up – see, even when you try and do paperwork, you're distracted, so you might as well give it up," Clyde said to Emily.

"Yeah, and lose my job," she said, rolling her eyes, but nonetheless turned off her computer and put her pen down. "Let's go, I guess," she sighed, standing up from her chair and walked beside Clyde to the door, right behind the other two.

... ... ... ... ...

_General Lachance's Office, Fifth Floor, Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, Paris, France, 2:08p.m.; 14 July 2003_

"They're waiting for you," Michelle, the General's secretary said as soon as the four agents stepped into her sight. "You don't have to wait."

"Thank you," Clyde said with a nod as he led his team to the one-way tinted glass door. He knocked on the door as he glanced at the windows that were blocked by blinds.

"Come in," the strong voice said from within the office.

Opening the door and stepping into the spacious room, the four agents took in the appearance of three different men: their General, their Director, and the third man, who had a shorter stature then the previous two, but was largely built.

The General sat down in his chair and motioned for the team to sit down, while the other two walked around the desk and stood on either side of the General. As the JTF agents sat down in the seats positioned in front of the desk, their General said, "As I'm sure you've already surmised, you have been assigned to another case."

As the four agents nodded as their assumptions were correct, the General continued: "The man standing to my right is Sean McAlister from Interpol. His men in Lyon have their plates busy with, to your big surprise, a terrorist. Now – by working on this case, dubbed Operation Valhalla, you are sub-contracted to a business we, as well as multiple Nations, contract: Clear Water Security. CWS were the ones to request JTF's involvement in this Operation.

"CWS is a private counter-intelligence group working out of Geneva and will provide you with most of your needs, may they be transport, technology, or shipping. You'll report automatically through Director Van Hoof and myself as per usual, but the information will be relayed to CWS as well. There is already a team set up through CWS who have conducted a small amount of recon, but there is much intel required, as you will soon understand.

"Now, Agent McAlister will continue briefing you four about this Operation in mere moments. Also, before you leave, Agents," he said sternly, standing up from his chair as the JTF stood as well, "I expect that all of your paperwork make it off your desk within the next week."

"Yes, Sir," the four of them all responded immediately. The General lifted his hand in the direction of the door and watched as the four JTF Agents walked out with Sean McAlister, exchanging introductions.

... ... ... ... ...

_[309] Sensitive Information Room, Third Floor, Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Information Center, Paris, France, 2:26p.m.; 14 July 2003_

"Alright, so," Clyde started as he closed the heavy, sound-proof door, "if you have a disk or USB stick, you can put it in over there," he said, pointing in the corner of the room where a table was set up with a computer.

Sean nodded his head in understanding and withdrew a USB stick from the inside of his jacket pocket where he then followed the SIS Agent to the table. When Clyde pressed the power button, the wall adjacent to the door lit up as a large portion of it turned into a screen. Plugging the USB into the port, Sean took the proffered clicker and brought up the PowerPoint document titled 'OPT V.' Clyde took a seat beside Emily who formed a semi-circle with the others around one side of the table, facing the large screen. Sean, after decrypting the file, took his position on the opposite side, standing just off the edge of the screen.

"So, as your… lovely General said," he started, smiling a bit at the understanding eyebrow lifts, "CWS is our sub-contractors and we only have some vague intel going into this case. Your job is, as usual, to provide the working profile. What we know of our target, who adopted the moniker _Valhalla_, is very little. We know he was a former IRA captain – though he has gone freelance within the last few years. He is now the leader of a breakaway IRA faction dealing with arms and tactics. He has been suspected in few attacks within Northern Ireland.

"Just some background, here," Sean said, clicking to the next slide, with the title 'Valhalla' and a picture of a ship. "This is the Valhalla – a ship that is famous for its journeys from Dublin to America. The symbol for it, as well as our guy's symbol, is a four leaf clover with a 'v' at the end of the stem," he said, clicking again so the picture showed on the screen. "From what we are assuming, he isn't a stand-alone guy, but he also isn't running the mafia. There's, probably, under ten men who work under him, and much less who are privy to the information of the real Valhalla. My professional guess is saying four, at the most. Not including himself, of course. Though, like I said, it's just a guess.

"We believe Valhalla had left the IRA most likely when it was the Provisional IRA. We're inclined to believe this because when the PIRA was to decommission due to the Belfast Agreement, multiple men left – including some of the leaders. Despite leaving the Provos, we understand that Valhalla has continued, just on his own."

"Smart move, on his part," Jeremy said, shrugging. "Get out of the main target, but continue with the same actions and ideology."

"Much easier to stay under the radar and allow your crimes to be viewed as the larger corporation's doing," Clyde added, nodding his agreement.

"Exactly," Sean commented, gesturing to the new slide, where four pictures were shown. The first simply showed a car on fire – though the next few were the disturbing part. Three more photos were shown on the slide, and each of them showed a different man severely burnt with different limbs blasted off. It was evident that those three men were within the car when it caught fire due to some type of hidden explosive.

"These three men were part of the British Army, actively engaged in 'Operation Banner' within Northern Ireland. The Provos were originally suspected, but no one had come forward as they commonly did. Also, after some research, a man that we had suspected that was in Valhalla's miniscule circle, Seamus Callaghan, was on an IRA brigade that was struck by all three of those British soldiers. Callaghan's brother, Joe, was killed along with three others. Unfortunately, Seamus was found dead three months ago, so we were unable to do perform any relevant intel surrounding his connections to Valhalla.

"No collateral damage what so ever – the British vehicle was parked away from others and not even a random squirrel was killed by the contained, complex blast. Only the three targeted. That is only one criminal involvement we were able to find that linked to Valhalla – a second one was a shooting in Northern Ireland. A clean, well placed sniper head-shot took out a sixty-three year old Protestant Irish-man living in Belfast: Pastor Martin Beattie. He was sitting out on his porch alone when he took the bullet.

"It turns out that Beattie liked to speak out against the Provos – especially the Captains and their superiors. He was saying things like 'you should get out while you can and do things that are worth something.' Also, some of our CWS colleagues have traced Beattie to – most likely – be the old Pastor of one of Valhalla's guys."

"Wait, are you saying there's a Protestant who was former IRA and is now grouped with Valhalla?" Tsia questioned, glancing once more at the dead Pastor on the screen.

"It's not unheard of," Emily commented, tapping her fingers lightly on the table in front of her. "Sure, the nationalists are predominantly Roman Catholics and the unionists are mostly Protestants, but some Protestants want Northern Ireland to no longer be part of the UK. Religion doesn't always completely divide regions. Whether you deem that fact as a good or bad thing – that's your opinion."

"A good, un-biased way to state that, Agent," Sean said, smiling slightly.

"So, is this link to Valhalla also dead, like Callaghan?" Clyde questioned, leaning back in his seat.

"No," Sean replied, shaking his head.

"Is he material for some good reconnaissance?" Jeremy asked.

"Depends on what you think qualifies as _good_," Sean said, immediately. "Ian Doyle – their resident Protestant – has only flown through our radar in a very small amount. From what we know – which, as I said before, is very little – he doesn't know exactly who Valhalla is. In my personal opinion, I think we _should_ execute more surveillance on him – we may be able to find a loop hole through his life in order to sway him to our side… whether he knows it or not."

"Well, if it turns out to be a reasonable mission, it can be done," Tsia said.

"That it can," Clyde confirmed.

"So, these men that serve through Valhalla," Emily asked, looking at Sean, "are they all former IRA?"

Sean tilted his head from side to side in contemplation and _hmm_'ed. "Well, from what we know of: yes. But, what we don't know could be a whole different story. My Interpol team that has been involved and the CWS agents are all in agreement that the men we _know _of are all former, or current, PIRA."

"There's a current Provo?" Jeremy exclaimed, sitting back up straight. "Can't we use that to our advantage? Have the PSNI take him into questioning for _any_ type of attack under PIRA pretences?"

"And then have Valhalla go even deeper underground then he already is? No thanks," Clyde responded immediately.

"Not to mention we aren't completely sure if he is with Valhalla," Sean added. "And, if that were the case, we'd just be causing trouble in places we don't need, nor can afford, trouble to be."

.

"You are either the best kept secret or just surrounded by blind people." — Maher

... ... ... ... ...

_[Author's Note]  
>Why hello there. SO, as you can tell, this chapter doesn't have the Ian Doyle recon thing I vaguely promised as well as Emily getting the mission to go undercover. Did I actually promise that, or was that in my head? :S <em>

_Well, no matter… it was planned for this chapter. But then it got too long for my liking. I know when I'm reading a chapter, my head starts to hurt when it's too long. So I'm _trying _to keep them under 3000 words. Needless to say, I'm not succeeding. But that just means more chapters for you guys!_

_This chapter was over 5000 words, and I still had more to go. So I split it into two. This one is out (obviously today) and the next will either be out tomorrow or on Sunday, depending on how much I can't write._

_PS, ZOMGGGG. I'm a big Harry Potter freak. And, unfortunately, my city sucks, and we didn't have a midnight showing. But tonight – first showing. Imma be there. So, to any of you HP fans, who have actually _read the book_, cheers :D_

_**[Lingo]  
><strong>__Interpol:_ International Criminal Police Organization with headquarters located in Lyon, France. Its work focuses primarily on public safety, terrorism, organized crime, crimes against humanity, environmental crime, genocide, war crimes, piracy, illicit drug production, drug trafficking, weapons smuggling, human trafficking, money laundering, child pornography, white-collar crime, computer crime, intellectual property crime and corruption. (directly from Wikipedia)

_IRA: _[Irish Republican Army] A revolutionary military organisation with the intention of creating a fully independent all-Ireland republic.

_Nationalists:_ Predominantly Roman Catholic, they wish to unite Northern Ireland to the rest of the Republic of Ireland; they form most of the (P)IRA

_Operation Banner:_ A British Army operation deployed to support the Northern Ireland police force

_Unionists: _Predominantly Protestant, they wish to keep Northern Ireland part of the UK

_PIRA: _[Provisional Irish Republican Army] an Irish republican paramilitary organization whose aim was to remove Northern Ireland from the United Kingdom and bring about a socialist republic within a united Ireland by force of arms and political persuasion. (directly from Wikipedia)

_the Provos: _Another name for the PIRA

_PSNI: _Police Service of Northern Ireland


	6. Recon

[Chapter Five: Recon]

... ... ... ... ...

_Mountains, Outskirts of Dungannon, Northern Ireland, 3:08p.m.; 30 July 2003_

"Can we push over?"

"_Why_, Clyde," Emily practically growled, trying to focus the long range surveillance camera on the apparent rendezvous location the team managed to receive.

"A rock is sticking into my stomach… it's rather uncomfortable."

"We're lying on a fucking mountain. There's going to rocks everywhere," she answered, annoyed, as she adjusted the bush the camera was placed in. Looking into the slot, Emily zoomed in further until she could see the large willow tree that marked the aforementioned location. "Plus, this is a good position. This bush is a very simple, non-descript cover… we're staying here."

"Am I not your superior?"

"Yeah, but I really don't care right now. This is where I'm staying."

"Can you two shut up?" Jeremy questioned, sitting with Tsia and Sean in the Communication Systems room at the CTIC. "Even millions of miles away and across a damn ocean, you two can _still _succeed in providing me with a headache."

"Well, we may be physically that far," Clyde answered, adjusting his position slightly. After a few seconds of trying to get comfortable, he continued sarcastically, "but over the waves – it's not that recent of a development, you may have heard of it – there is only a point two second difference."

"Once again, shut up," Jeremy commented.

"Yes, please shut up, Clyde," Emily repeated.

"Why is everyone against me?"

"Because we all think you're an annoying twerp," Tsia answered immediately.

"Tell me how you really feel," he muttered in response.

He pulled the laptop closer to him in order to see the screen better. Plugging the cord that was attached to the camera Emily was controlling into the computer, Clyde clicked 'Accept' when a box popped up in the middle of the screen. Now able to see what Emily was seeing, real-time, he spoke again to the three Agents in France: "Can you see it?"

"Not yet – ours is still loading," Sean answered.

"Alright, just tell me when, and we'll start."

"Copy, that."

After three minutes of silence, Sean's voice came through the ear-pieces both Emily and Clyde were wearing. "Alright, we have your visual."

"Good," Emily said as she took a picture of the willow tree that the camera was still trained on. "Did you get that?"

"Affirmative," Tsia said. "Nice tree… too bad it's probably been shot at multiple times."

"Oh, come on!" Clyde exclaimed sarcastically. "The fact that it has bullets lodged in its trunk is what makes it sexy."

"Clyde likes wood… that's a new development," Emily said, smirking as she zoomed out slightly.

"_Ha-ha_, very funny," he replied, ignoring the laughs he could hear through the earpiece.

"Shut up," Emily said abruptly, ceasing all laughter.

"There they are," Clyde muttered, staring intently at the screen as he watched a dark green Jeep Wrangler stop and execute a quick three point turn in order to park directly in front of the tree.

While the jeep was half-way through the turn, Emily took some successive pictures, attempting to capture the license plate. Clyde didn't stop to look at the pictures though – he just clicked the 'finish' button, and allowed the screen go back to the real-time view. All five of the Agents, despite being across an ocean, watched the same image – a jeep idling in front of a regal looking tree with a raven ever so often passing through the view. After what was less than five minutes, the Agents watched as two enclosed trucks came up the road the same way the jeep had originally arrived. The trucks parked so that the second one had its rear bumper approximately fifteen feet from the jeep's bumper while the first truck parked so that there were only two or three feet in between them.

Emily attempted to take photos of their licences plates, but the angle was impossible from the position she was in. Sighing slightly, she aimed her camera so she could get pictures of the men that exited each vehicle. There were only two men in each truck and one man in the jeep that exited. Head shots were taken of all five – and she only knew who the one person was. Ian Doyle exited the back of the second truck while a younger but well built man stepped out of the driver's seat, carrying an automatic weapon. From another picture Emily captured, she could see that Doyle had a gun pocketed in the waist band of his pants.

From the first truck, she took a photo of the driver first – a man who resembled the other driver, right down to the type of clothing and gun. _Foot soldiers that probably have no idea who Valhalla is_, she thought, before she redirected her camera's aim at the man who exited the back seat of the first truck. He had what was almost a fu Manchu moustache along with side burns – and it was all white, including what was on his head. He too was packing what looked to be a high calibre pistol in the side of his jeans.

Emily then directed the camera's focus onto the jeep's occupant who had exited the vehicle. A tall, well built man leaned against the back of his jeep, having already opened the flaps. She took a quick picture of his face and immediately zoomed into the back compartment. All she could see were about six stacked black boxes: three boxes in each of the two columns.

They watched as only Doyle and the other man with the gray hair walk over to the jeep while the two drivers stood back, hands on their guns, and kept an eye out. The three men exchanged few words before the seller opened up one of the black cases to reveal what looked to be an automatic weapon. Capturing as many photos as she could, Emily watched as Doyle withdrew the weapon to get a better look at it. She took a few more photos before she realized he was about to shoot it. Hesitating for a moment as she watched him point the gun in their direction, she let out a small breath as she watched him shoot at a random tree, not quite emptying the magazine. Taking as many decent pictures as she could, Emily continued to keep up with what was happening.

She saw the other man opening the rest of the boxes – she assumed he was just making sure all of the merchandise was legitimate. Beckoning the two drivers over, she watched as one of them gave the fu Manchu guy a suitcase before they both grabbed two cases each. Doyle replaced the gun back into its original case, and shut it. Fu Manchu man took the remaining two cases and walked back to the trucks as well.

Doyle offered the man the suitcase that the driver had previously placed on the ground, and watched as he opened it to count the money. Apparently appeased, the man shook Doyle's hand but then raised a finger as if to say, "Give me a second."

Doyle stood there waiting patiently, his hands on his hips, as he watched the man take out another black case from the back seat of the jeep. As he opened it, Emily took a quick picture and realized it was just multiple rounds of what appeared to be the same bullet – no doubt the rounds for the guns Doyle just bought. They shook hands once more, and the man took off in his jeep.

Doyle handed his driver the case filled with bullets and walked over to the tree he had shot at. He withdrew a knife out of the inside of his jacket pocket and got to work on the tree's trunk. Emily heard Clyde curse quietly, and she silently echoed his sentiment. Once finished with the extraction of the multiple bullets, Doyle walked over to where he had stood when he fired, and bent to the ground. He scoured the ground for a few minutes before he stood up, satisfied. Placing all of the casings he had found into his coat pocket, he entered the second truck, and both vehicles left the area.

After a few minutes of silence, Sean's voice once more filled their ears. "Alright," he said, sounding slightly defeated. "Just go to the cabin – I'm sending in a team to be there for tomorrow to scour that area just in case he left anything."

"I highly doubt that," Clyde muttered as he unplugged the cord from the laptop.

"I know, but it's the only other thing we can do, other than to look at the photos."

Emily packed up the camera gently as Clyde did the same with the laptop. Both of them removed their ear-pieces and microphones, placing them in their pockets. The two of them carefully made their way down a part of the mountain they were stationed on. Once they were off the hardest part of the mountain to walk down, the two were able to quicken their pace. Clyde checked the small GPS he had in his pocket and pointed to their left. They easily found the flattened part of the large rock they were on that was occupied by a small, derelict shack.

Clyde beckoned Emily in first when they arrived at the insecure, wooden door. She twisted the handle and opened it up slowly using her foot with her fire-arm drawn. She sensed, rather than saw, Clyde in the same position, entering right after her. They cleared the small building in twenty seconds as it only had two other rooms aside from the main one they stepped into.

"Home, sweet, home," Clyde said sarcastically as they met up in the main room.

... ... ... ... ...

_Abandoned Shack, Outskirts of Dungannon, Northern Ireland, 5:54p.m.; 30 July 2003_

Watching Clyde sit down on the ratty, two-seater couch positioned by the wall adjacent to the door, Emily joined him. She set the camera bag down beside her feet, and leaned back.

"I have a spring poking me in the back, can we move over?" she asked after a few seconds, her eyes closed.

"No, sorry, this happens to be a good position," said Clyde, repeating her sentiments from their stake-out, smirking.

"You haven't seen a good position yet, Clyde," Emily answered, smirking in the same fashion as she knew he had been a few seconds before.

"You're cruel, you know that, love?"

"It's a habit I can't get rid of," she replied, smiling and standing up as she remembered the radio. She walked over to the small plastic table where they had earlier put a radio and a microphone. She turned just the radio on to 583.8, the channel reserved for the JTF-12, and went back to the couch.

"You should push over."

"There's nowhere to push over to," Clyde said, gesturing with his hands. "This is a rather small couch if you haven't realized, love."

Softly biting the inside of her cheek, Emily hesitated for a moment and then swiftly made her decision. "Then I guess we're going to have to squish – I'd rather not sit here and have my back be continuously poked until we can leave," she said, angling her body so she could see his face. What she saw shocked her immediately, but she didn't let it show on her features. He watched her with unwavering, darkened eyes, with his arm lightly resting on the back of the couch.

"I guess – if you think that it's necessary," he said quietly, continuing to stare steadily into her eyes. "Wouldn't want you sore due to such a trivial thing as a couch."

Somehow – Emily wasn't quite sure if she was doing it on purpose – her body started to slowly lean towards him, and he moved at the same pace as her. Their eyes continued to stay locked together, their movements tantalizingly slow. They both knew the cost of what was about to happen – but neither of them dared to mention how irrevocable their actions would prove to be. Clyde's arm slid off the back of the couch and rested right beside Emily's midsection, but not quite touching.

Their eyes still never moved from each other's, even when their lips were inches apart. Emily moved her one hand to his shoulder, and the other to rest, open-palmed, on his forearm. All they could hear were their similar breaths of anticipation intermingling with each other along with the soft patter of sudden rain hitting the fragile roof. After just one millimetre more of closing in, Emily lightly bit down on the corner of her bottom lip, causing Clyde to break their staring contest. He glanced down at where he could only see a small portion of her bright white teeth holding the bottom right side of her lip.

As soon as his attention reverted to her lips, he barely had any time to think before the tooth let go, allowing her lips to gently pull upwards. He shifted his focus back to Emily's chocolate brown eyes, only to find them staring directly back at him as if they never moved a centimetre, despite having a moment where he was otherwise preoccupied.

Hesitating for only a split-second, Clyde moved his other hand in order to grasp one side of her hip while his other arm – the one innocently lying by her side – also moved to Emily's hips. Taking that as enough incentive, Emily moved her hand that was previously holding onto his forearm up to the back of his neck and closed almost all of the space, leaving it so their lips were only fractionally touching. Clyde's hands flexed slightly as he simultaneously pulled her body closer and tilted his head so their lips could fully connect.

Their eyes closed as soon as they connected, but at first, they stayed still. Only after a second, their lips moved in sync with one another, keeping it tender and slow. Emily's hand lightly pushed on the back of Clyde's neck, but that's all of the encouragement it took for him to escalate the kiss.

"Hey guys, are you there?" Tsia's voice sounded from the radio suddenly, causing the two Agents to hastily jump apart as if they were electrically shocked. Clyde swiftly stood up and walked over to the table to turn the microphone on while Emily attempted to fight the blush that succeeded to appear on her face. She ran her fingers through her hair in slight aggravation – though the aggravation immediately changed into confusion when she felt multiple knots and tangles. _When the hell did his hands get up there?_

"Yeah, we're here," he commented, trying to control his breathing, into the microphone.

"What's your status?"

_Before or after you rudely interrupted? But that's a good question,_ Clyde thought immediately before he responded: "Just waiting for information," he said, right before he let out a short, breathy laugh. "And I take it you have some."

"Got it in one," Jeremy said amongst the noise of shuffling papers.

Emily stood up and smoothed out her shirt before she joined Clyde at the table. They made eye-contact for a brief second before Tsia's voice sounded, causing the two of them to look down at the radio as if they could see their colleague speaking.

"We sent some of your photos down to the second floor," she said with anticipation in her voice. "Turns out the guys down there were able to identify the guns Doyle purchased –"

"– as well as the ammunition."

"I was getting to that," she said, reprimanding Jeremy, causing both Clyde and Emily to smirk lightly.

"So, what are we dealing with?" Emily questioned with trepidation laced through her voice.

"It's a Russian-made submachine gun called the PP-2000," Sean answered grimly. "It was only just finished being completed two months ago and issued within less than a month – it hasn't even been publically displayed yet."

"The rate of fire is approximately seven hundred rounds per minute," Jeremy added, "with a feed system allowing a twenty or forty-four round detachable box."

"The PP Doyle fired had a suppressor on it – and we're assuming the others had them as well," Sean commented as he flipped a paper. "Now, for the bullets… from one of the photos, we came to the agreement that the magazines looked more like the forty-four rather than the twenty – but we can't be sure."

"It's probably a forty-four clip," Emily said, shrugging. "I can't see any of Valhalla's men – especially if the merchandise is _for_ Valhalla – getting something that would just make it harder for tactics."

"Basically what we thought too," Jeremy said, agreeing. "Also, from one of the photos you took, Emily, Chad said that the bullets appear to look more like a VBR-B rather than the nine by nineteen millimetre 7N21 or 7N31."

"And that means…?" Clyde questioned, raising his eyebrows slightly, with Emily shrugging in response.

"The VBR-B is both armour piercing as well as a controlled fragmenting bullet," Sean answered, "which doubles the chance to hit a vital organ."

"So basically he bought the ones that screw you over a hell of a lot more," Jeremy commented. "Rather than only having the unfortunate opportunity to get a bullet go through your Kevlar, it'll also tear your organs apart."

"Lovely," Clyde muttered.

"My thoughts exactly," Sean said.

"Is there anything else, then?" Emily questioned, interrupting the silence while she rubbed her temples.

"Regarding the fire-arms," Sean replied hesitantly, "no."

"Regarding anything else?" Clyde asked, immediately suspicious. After a few seconds of silence, Clyde's eyebrows rose up into his hairline before he spoke again. "Sean, _what_ else is there?"

"Well," he started cautiously, "we were discussing how Doyle has been increasingly active and how it seems like he has a rather permanent place within this thing."

"And we had a discussion about how we would be able to gain access to Valhalla through Doyle," Tsia commented, tapping her fingers on the table she was sitting at. "Because, as I think we can all easily agree, that it is a possible chance."

"Yes," Clyde agreed, his hesitation increasing by every moment his team drew this conversation out.

"Well, CWS has performed more intel on Doyle since you received this case due of my request," Sean informed him, "and we have thought up a plan, surrounding some of the information that others have gathered."

"What are you getting at, Sean?" Clyde snapped slightly, letting out an aggravated breath.

"Long term infiltration," he answered immediately, deeming it useless to drag the topic on longer than they already had.

"How?"

"Well… we were actually thinking that – well, we think Emily would be the best fit," Jeremy said hesitantly after a short moment of painful silence.

Emily clenched her back molars together for only a moment before she wiped her face of all emotion, nodding. In a complete one-eighty from Emily, Clyde pursed his lips together, shaking his head.

"I don't see why we should risk our own agent in this," he finally said, shifting his eyes to Emily momentarily before he focused once more on the radio. "Our primary job is to get a profile – not to become knee deep with weapon dealers," he commented, trying to stay calm and to appear reasonable.

"Actually, I think it's necessary to have a profiler be the one to infiltrate," Emily said immediately. "And we've been watching him for the past two weeks – _I've_ been watching him. It only makes sense that it is to be one of us. And if you guys," she said, speaking to the agents still in France, "have reason to believe I would be a good fit for this mission, then so be it. I trust your judgement."

She looked over to Clyde only to receive the sight of him staring directly at her. He knew she was going to go – no matter what he came up with for a retort. He also knew she would kill him if he made any other comments in order to try and stop her. All he wanted was for a different agent to go in.

And she knew that he wasn't being condescending… he was just trying to protect her. She knew she could do it – and she also knew he believed in her. But Emily recognized the fact that her team came to a decision that she would be the proper fit, and she was going to respect their choice.

.

"However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results." — Winston S. Churchill

... ... ... ... ...

_[Author's Note]  
>Wow. You guys have no idea how much your reviews made my day. I appreciate every single word! And, if you want me to respond, you have to be signed in! ;) <em>

_So, I have _another _chapter to do that I haven't planned, apparently. Maybe… I don't know, because it might be shorter. But I was thinking that I wanted to do a chapter incorporating Emily learning some of the things she needs to know to go undercover. I also wanted to incorporate Fahey and some Irish mob & how he got snaked into unknowingly helping the JTF. That sounds fun ;)_

_**[Lingo]  
><strong>__7N21:_ basically an armour-piercing bullet

_7N31:_ the same as the 7N21, but with a higher muzzle velocity (travels further)

_Clip:_ slang for a gun's magazine; the part that holds the bullets

_PP-2000: _SMG gun that was publically shown in 2004

_VBR-B:_ a controlled fragmenting projectile and an armour-piercing bullet that features a brass sabot and a hardened steel penetrator. (from Wikipedia.)

_Waves:_ slang for radio air-waves


	7. Jack Fahey

[Chapter Six: Jack Fahey]

... ... ... ... ...

_[309] Sensitive Information Room, Third Floor, Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, Paris, France, 12:48p.m.; 5 August 2003_

"Okay, where are Emily and Clyde," Sean questioned, a slight frown gracing his face. "It's not like them to be late…"

"I think Emily said something about going to get lunch before she basically ran out earlier," Tsia said, shrugging. "It was rather sudden and I wasn't really paying attention."

"They better hope they arrive soo-n," Sean ended awkwardly as the two Agents hurriedly burst through the door, causing everyone to look over.

"How soon is soon?" Clyde questioned, trying to sound innocent.

"Why are you basically fifteen minutes late?" Jeremy asked, a single eyebrow raised with his arms crossed in front of him, resting on the table.

"Well, according to my watch, we're only thirteen minutes late," Emily said, sitting down in one of the chairs as she tried to smooth out her shirt.

"And why do your clothes look like that?" Tsia said, smirking, noticing how ruffled their clothes were.

"Uh," Clyde said, hesitating as he took his seat as well.

... ... ... ... ...

_Dirt Road, Outskirts of Paris, France, 12:15p.m.; 5 August 2003_

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Travelling down a road."

"Why?"

"You'll see," Clyde said cryptically.

"You do realize that if we had kept going on the right path to the base, we would just barely get to our meeting on time," Emily said, exasperated, glancing at the clock.

"We'll be a little late, I don't mind," he answered, shrugging.

"_Cly-yde,_" she whined jokingly.

"_Emily,_" he mocked as he pulled to the side and opened his door, gesturing for her to do the same thing. After they both exited their respective doors, he silently ushered her into the bush, far enough so they no longer had a visual on the SUV.

"I have a loaded gun, you know," she threatened, looking around, and turned to face him.

"Me too," he commented, grinning widely and wiggling his eyebrows, suggesting that he wasn't talking about his pistol that was currently tucked in its holster on his hip.

Emily attempted to send him a stern look, but the purpose was defeated when she smirked slightly. She ended up just rolling her eyes and huffed slightly. "Why exactly are we out here," she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"I'm surprised you even have to ask," he said as he gently took both of her hands off her hips and held them to their sides.

"Clyde," Emily tried once more, but was once again unsuccessful, this time being cut off by his lips. Once the two parted due to the need of oxygen, Emily contemplated dragging him back to the SUV for less than a second before she said "screw it," and pulled him back in.

... ... ... ... ...

_[309] Sensitive Information Room, Third Floor, Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, Paris, France, 12:49p.m.; 5 August 2003_

"That's what happens when you run back," Emily answered quickly, interrupting whatever Clyde was about to say. "We knew we were going to be late, so we tried to hurry up and make up some time," she explained, shooting him a glare when Tsia made a 'mhm' noise and turned away, along with the other two.

_Yup, we ran here_, the two thought.

"Well, now that we're all here," Sean said, looking directly at the new arrivals, "we can start with the briefing."

Emily provided him with a small, apologetic, embarrassed smile before he turned to the small box on the table in front of where he was standing.

"We are all given knew aliases in regards to this Operation, as per usual," he commented, picking up five different passports out of the box. "They are as follows: Clyde, meet Lyle Rodgers," Sean said, pushing over his fake passport, "Tsia, Leila Rafferty," dropping her passport in front of her, "Jeremy, you'll be Luc Renault, and Emily, you're Lauren Reynolds," he finished, sliding both across the center of the table. "And I'm Lawrence Riley," he quickly added as an afterthought, placing the small book in his pocket.

"So, our primary contact will of course be Doyle – but first we need to find a way to have _Lauren_ get in business with him. As the Irish mob is affiliated with a lot of the IRA, I had some CWS agents do some research in addition to our previous intel. There's a bar located in Boston, Massachusetts called The Black Shamrock that's ran mostly through the mob – apparently Doyle likes to hang out there when he's down in that area. The guy who runs the block out there – Jack Fahey – is dealing with some of the guys who are known to work with Doyle. There is an operative within the mob currently, who has been situated there for an undiscloseable amount of time, and has the ability to assist our efforts in providing us an opportunity to speak to Fahey… see if we can get a chance to meet with Doyle."

Glancing at the photograph that Sean projected upon the large screen that showed a building with the words, 'The Black Shamrock,' Jeremy asked, "I take it you're contacting the mob agent?"

"Not directly, no… but I'll have his superiors notified of our plan after this meeting, and I'll be sure to let them know he is to be contacted by tomorrow morning, at the latest," he replied, taking his seat.

"So, what's our plan then," Tsia questioned as she sat up straight in her chair, preparing for whatever was to be said.

"We'll set a time and place for Clyde to meet the guy," Sean said. Then, gesturing to Clyde, he continued: "Clyde, you'll be posing as Emily – or _Lauren_'s – partner-in-crime, but you won't be using your alias –"

"And why wouldn't I?" he interrupted immediately, clearly alarmed at the suggestion, as the others three all simultaneously raised their eyebrows, indicating their own shock.

"Because, due to previous circumstances, as you know, Fahey will know that isn't the truth. So, because of that, we cannot risk him mentioning the discrepancy and erasing our chance with Doyle."

Two thick seconds of silence later, Emily's eyebrows furrowed and she turned to him and asked: "You already know Fahey?"

"Previous mission," Clyde answered shortly, and turned back to Sean. As he was about to speak, Emily continued to talk.

"Okay, but can't we just use your connection to him to get us in to see Doyle… forget the middle-man?"

"Because, I don't know him that well and the man I was portraying back then wasn't supposed to know about his connection to Doyle as well as the whole ex-IRA weapons dealer thing."

"And the middle-man will do what, exactly?" Tsia asked, looking between Clyde and Sean. "All I can see happening," she explained, "is the potential of us getting the UA accidently busted by not just going to Fahey. We can't just use Clyde's previous endeavours into said Irish Mob and say he was tipped off aboutit when he was there?"

"The problem with that is that I busted his face in – with good reason, of course – and then proceeded to go about my business," Clyde mentioned, sighing slightly. "However, there is a bit of a bigger problem. When I was in that situation with him before, there were… _rumours_ about Fahey's affiliations with arms dealers, and our alias' assignment could not be mixed in with that particular business. He gave us his absolute promise that there was no amalgamation with them – though we actually knew the truth, our aliases technically didn't because we had the information from the SIS database. So, since he knows what I look like, I can't exactly walk in there and spurt out a different name."

"_Oh_-kay," Jeremy said with laughter in his voice, "that, I guess, is a decent explanation."

"Can we at least tell him your 'new' name is Lyle?" Emily asked, frowning slightly, while adding her own finger quotations. "We can just tell him that's your new name from when you switched out of your previous business to arms dealing."

"We can do that," Sean said, intervening. "I think that'd be best, anyways."

"Also, is there going to be a problem with the fact that you cracked him one in the face? Because I know _I_ personally wouldn't be too impressed with that," Tsia commented with a light smirk on her face, intermingling with the serious expression her features always adorned.

"We had met a few times after that display," he answered immediately, "so there should be little to no animosity between us. Plus, he truly cannot say anything about that measly fight regarding the circumstances."

"Alright, so the back story will be the two of you are cousins who are business partners: Emily, you're the arms dealer, of course, and Clyde, you're basically her –"

"Bitch."

"I was going to say right-hand man," Sean laughed, "but that works too, Emily."

First shooting Emily a jokingly reproachful look, Clyde looked back at Sean and said, "Yeah, I figured so."

"Good – now, I assume the two of you know how you're to continue from there. Tsia, Jeremy. Assuming there'll be windows, you'll both be monitoring the meeting place from a safe distance, observing through an L.D.T.C.," he continued, referencing to a Long Distance Tactical Camera. "I want you both to be watching for any inconsistencies regarding any of the soldiers who will be, without any doubt, around them. If not, both of you will be patrolling the grounds surrounding the building with the camera, and we'll need to rely on Emily and Clyde's audio transmitters." As soon as the team nodded their understanding, Sean nodded once in return, and gestured to the door while saying: "So, I guess you can go enjoy your paperwork that needs to be completed, guys."

"I'm fairly certain we'll be in need of a lot of coffee in order to accomplish that," Emily muttered as they all stood from their seats and walked out the door.

Tsia and Jeremy made affirmative noises while Clyde just looked back at Emily, shook his head with a slight smirk, and said: "As I'm the bitch, I'll grab us all some coffee."

"Thanks for being such a doll," she replied with a cheeky grin, following the others to their respective desks.

... ... ... ... ...

_Side Street, Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America, 8:16p.m.; 10 August 2003_

The area was rather dark, with only one street light working half way down the road and a malfunctioning one in front of the two figures who were currently leaning against an old, brick building. The gentle half moon cast a hue of natural light onto the city, accenting vague features while a small patch of clouds innocently lurked around the crescent. The tall street light flickered off for a second time within the past fifteen minutes with a quiet _pop_, causing the woman to sigh and drop her cigarette directly in front of her. Without looking away from the open street she was facing, she used the toe of her boot to stamp out the finished cigarette, clearly annoyed. The man, after quickly casting a small, distasteful glance at the crushed butt, reverted his attention back to the direction he was originally monitoring.

"Are you sure he's coming?"

"Do you doubt me?"

"I asked a question, and your answer was a question – that's not exactly what I was looking for," she said evenly.

"I know," he replied, matter-of-factly.

"Would you like to try again then, Lyle? Because my patience is wearing thin," Emily said, flexing both her hands into fists, "and I have things to do."

"Lauren, you typically do not have an immense amount of patience – I understand that, I truly do," he replied. "However, right now we're slightly low on the totem pole that we are currently trying to climb. And, that of course means we are the ones to wait and be found. Not the other way around, despite that being our usual routine. Just remember: It's for the better."

"For the better, yeah," she muttered with a slight frown, her eyes making eye contact with the British man for a mere second before switching back to trace amongst the abandoned buildings and alley ways. "The thing is: I typically have the decency to not be twenty minutes late for a meeting regarding business of this nature."

"True," he amended, "but you have to consider we are talking about the Irish mob – they do things their way, time be damned."

Nodding her head in slight agreement, Emily – or Lauren, as she is to now be called by everyone – painstakingly checked her watch once more, using the moonlight to aid her in reading the two hands on the small face. Lowering her left arm once more, her right hand twitched slightly as if she were to pull out her gun, but immediately thought better of it.

"Lyle," she murmured. "Two men – opposite side of the road, my direction."

Without looking, Clyde questioned: "One's wearing a gray, button-up shirt?"

"Affirmative. Those the ones we're waiting for, I take it?"

"Let's check," he commented. He turned and started to gently lead her in their direction, but on the opposite side of the street. Once the two Agents were almost directly across from the two men, Clyde stopped abruptly.

"What?" Emily questioned, starting the security phrase that was decided on between Clyde and the undercover mob agent.

"I forgot the wine Noel asked us to bring… it's still sitting on the couch," he said, loud enough to be heard across the desolate road.

"Really?" she asked, with annoyance and disbelief in her voice. Pausing for a moment, as the silence was about to continue, Emily thought they had the wrong guys until they heard a deep, gruff voice speak.

"If you want, my wife has some that she doesn't like," the man spoke from across the road. "Ten bucks, that's all."

After casting Prentiss a quick look, which she only answered with a shrug and gesture, Clyde led the way across the street. "Thanks, that'd save us a lot of hassle, man."

"Follow us," the other said. As each of the four people cast their eyes around the deserted area, they made their way through the open, cast-iron gate. The gate squeaked as the gray-shirted man shut it, trailing last while the other walked in front, with the two Agents in the middle. Without hesitation, the man knocked on the wooden door in an obviously practiced pattern before opening the door himself.

Once the last man entered the building as well and shut the door, both of the foot-soldiers faced the Agents and, the one with the gray shirt, raised his eyebrows and made a hand gesture that only consisted of his right palm being raised, and his fingers moving outwards. Without words, both Agents knew what to do: spread 'em.

Each mobster took an Agent, felt across each of their arms, down their torsos, and continued down each leg, all the while removing any weapons they found in the process. Removing a Ruger P95 pistol from both Agent's hips as well as their backup pistols found on their legs – both a Ruger P90. The pile also contained a knife of Clyde's, and a ring that Emily had on her right hand.

"What's the ring going to do… give you half-a-millimetre cut?" she questioned, her voice laced in annoyance, when the man slid it off her finger last.

"What? Is it important to you – has some kind of chip in it?"

"No," she said, honestly and calmly. "But it is one of my favourites."

"You'll get it back."

"And I hope we'll be getting at least a gun each, to go in there," Clyde said, fixing his shirt that was jostled during the expected search. "In our field, we never don't have a weapon. I'm sure you can understand that."

"Sorry," one of the men said, obviously not sorry at all, "that's against procedure."

"How about this," a new voice said from around the corner. A small, weasel-looking man rounded the corner. "If you _promise_ not to punch me again –"

"Oh, Jack," Clyde commented, smirking. "Can I promise, like you promise? And, in my defence, the punch, I believe, was delivered because you… _promised_ me that there was nothing between you and arms dealers," he said, shaking the man's hand as if they were old friends. "And, I mean… imagine my surprise when I came across a local mobster, here in Boston, who happened to know a profitable link to one… and the name I was provided with just happened to be yours!"

"Ah, well – we all cannot keep our promises, can we?" Jack Fahey questioned, chuckling a bit. "O'Rourke, McLoughlin, go into the other room– I'll meet you there after I'm done here," Fahey said, addressing the other two. Shifting his attention back to the two Agents once the others left, he started to speak again. "What about you, Clyde? I'm pretty sure you mentioned something about never getting caught up in… what did you call it, again? A non-sense means of terrorism?"

"Views change, I guess," he said squarely, shrugging. "Plus, my cousin here was the one who started it. Jack, meet Lauren Reynolds," gesturing to Emily.

"Pleasure to meet you… though I was not informed that the two of you had met before," Emily commented, raising her eyebrows slightly as she shook his hand.

"Back in the day when my name was still _Clyde_," he said, glancing over at Fahey, hinting that it wasn't anymore.

"Ah, so, my name is Jack Fahey… and you are?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"Lyle Rodgers," Clyde answered, grasping Fahey's hand. "And we have absolutely no history."

"No, no we don't," Fahey answered. "So, L-R and L-R… was that planned?"

"Yeah, but since no one else knows that _Lyle _changed his name," Emily said quietly, "it wasn't."

"Understood," Jack said, his eyes trailing down her body.

"Hey, Jacky – no need to check out my cousin."

"Of course – plus, I hear you're trying to get in touch with some pretty big guys," he said, shifting his attention to Clyde once more. "They're the ones I don't wanna mess with, considering I already know who I'm going to try and get'chu into business with… and not just the business in dealing with weapons that kill."

"Oh, and is there a name that you can give me?" Emily questioned with a smile, placing her left hand on her hip.

"Of course not, doll-face," he said, immediately regretting his words, knowing that the narrowed eyes was due to the endearment.

"Call me that again and you'll wish you hadn't," Emily warned, gaining a smile from Clyde.

"It's true – you'll _really_ wish you hadn't, Jack," Clyde said, joining in.

"Alright, alright," he amended, gesturing to their weapons. "Grab them, and follow me."

Picking up each of their previously removed items, Clyde and Emily both followed Fahey into a room that was clearly his office. The room was decorated fairly simple, but it was clear he liked to portray his status amongst the walls. A large, silk Ireland flag hung behind the wooden desk, littered with paper and pens. As Fahey took a seat behind it, Emily and Clyde both sat down in the two, high-backed seats sat scraped across the wooden floor.

"So, I was serious, yea'know," he started. "The name thing," he added, though the two Agents had guessed that from the beginning. "But I can tell you how he can help get'cha up through some of the big dogs in arms-dealing."

"And how can he do that?" Emily questioned, crossing her hands in her lap.

"He was Provisional IRA, pretty high up in the food chain out there," Fahey replied, leaning on his desk. "When he left though, he continued with some of their practices."

"You can just say, he's dealing with weapons," Clyde responded.

"Listen, this guy can get you places," Fahey said, ignoring Clyde's comment. "And you're his type, Lauren. If you wanna wait a few days, you can meet him. He's supposed to be in town on the eighteenth."

"That'd be good, Jack," Emily commented, nodding her head slightly with a smile. "And what, exactly, are you going to tell him about me?"

"That I've never seen more of a match for him," Fahey said in all honesty. "It's the truth, that's the thing… at least, from what I've seen," he mentioned off-handed, and then ended with: "and heard."

"Oh, from who, exactly?"

"Murray, I'm guessing?" Clyde intercepted automatically, with Fahey nodding after. Emily took this to mean that he is the undercover agent in the mob. "I may have mentioned a few things to him –"

"Oh, like what?" Emily asked Clyde, arching a single eyebrow.

"A little bit of this, a little bit of that," he responded innocently, flashing her a smile. Looking back to Fahey, he continued to speak, regarding the matter that was almost within their grasp. "I want to know a little more specifically about what kind of deals we'll be making with this guy," he said, gesturing between himself and Emily. "And I don't care about the lengths he'll go to get his guns – this is my cousin we're talking about, Jack. And even though she can probably kick my ass, I'm trying to look out for her."

Keeping her face clear of the emotion she was so desperate to show Clyde, Emily forced herself to contain it and spoke before Fahey could open his mouth. "What he means to say," she said, casting a quick look to Clyde, "is should I – or, apparently, _he_ –" hinting that Clyde is the one she is trying to console, "be able to trust that I'm going to have the ability to see… this man, and be able to be in business with him as well as his associates?"

"Well, I cannot speak for his associates," Fahey answered in a response to start. "However, for as much as I know, other than being fairly paranoid and only trusting in a few people, he's fairly business orientated – mind you, there can always be changes in people," he said. Staring at Emily, he gestured with his hands as if were contemplating something and said: "Maybe he just hasn't had the option to be with the right person to incorporate his business and personal life into one thing."

In response to the unwavering, serious gazes both Emily and Clyde wore when listening, Jack Fahey shrugged, leaned forwards in his seat and placed his forearms on the desk. Gathering up a small amount of suspense, Fahey looked into Emily's eyes, flicked his gaze over to Clyde for a brief moment, and then slowly looked back to Emily before he carefully finished: "This guy… he's a warrior. And he typically gets what he wants."

.

A man can't be too careful in the choice of his enemies. — Oscar Wilde

... ... ... ... ...

_[Author's Note]  
>Well, it's cool. You guys can bludgeon me in the face. Multiple times. I understand. *Ducks the knives* Guess I should've expected that I guess. WHAT THE HELL. I don't know. I can sit here and make excuses until I die, but, well… that could be soon with you guys, huh? : But, in all honesty, I just didn't feel like it until about a week ago. And then I got sick so I only wrote for an hour or two for five days until I was tired again. Anyways, thought y'all should know that I actually am sorry, and I'll try try try to not take forever for the next chapter :/ I just have to figure out what's going in it… :P Anywho, have a good day and days to come, until I have a new update!_

_ps, ZOMG. I saw new CM pictures as well as interviews the other day. And all I have to say is: EEEEEEEEEE. (squeal, btw.)_

_**[Lingo]**__  
>Long Distance Tactical Camera: <em>pure bs that I made up… but I'm sure it exists somewhere. Basically, in my mind, it's kind of like what you see on tv when the snipers are using their zoom… but this version doesn't have the high powered killing machine attached. :P

_Ruger P90/95: _two pistols from the RugerP series made by Sturm, Ruger & Company

_UA: _short form for undercover agent


End file.
